Exile
by Maven Cree
Summary: HP/SS Slash. Harry is exiled from the wizarding world and is forced into the seedier side of muggle London. W.I.P.


**Disclaimer:**  Any characters or fictional locations previously mentioned in a Harry Potter book or accessory belong to (her majesty) J.K. Rowling.  Everything else belongs to reality or myself.

**Summary:** Harry is exiled from the wizarding world and is forced into the seedier side of muggle London. W.I.P. HP/SS

Rated R here, but NC-17 scenes will be posted at my yahoo group One Eyed Witch. There will be notice given for these scenes and a link when necessary.

**WARNINGS:******

**MMMMM.../M SLASH**

***VERY* dark. *VERY* angsty. *VERY* violent.**

**Abuse and rape prevalent!  You have been warned!!!**

**Exile**

**Chapter One**

**By Maven Cree**

Voldemort was dead.

That was all anyone really thought mattered.

Voldemort was dead and the world could move on.  All thanks to one seventh-year student with messy black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

It was the first Saturday since the final battle.  Harry was attempting to get up to Gryffindor tower.  An impromptu Quidditch match was beginning and he wanted to get his Firebolt so that he could join Ron, Hermione and the others outside.  Unfortunately, the staircases were not agreeing with him this day and he found he was having to take the long way around.

He had just turned into a seldom-used corridor on the second floor when he heard someone greet him.

"Ah!  There you are Potter."

Harry looked up.  The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge was coming down another narrow corridor flanked by two rather large ministry Aurors.

"Just the young man I was looking for."

"Me, sir?"

"Yes.  There are some things we need to discuss, my boy," he said firmly.

Harry had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Should we perhaps look for the Headmaster then?"

"No, need for that, my boy.  This won't take long.  I'll need to see your wand, Potter."

"My wand?"

"Yes, hand it over."

Harry hesitatingly reached into his pocket and withdrew his cherished item.  Cautiously, every hair on his skin standing up, handed it over to the Minister.

"And this is the wand you used to cast the curse which killed You-Know-Who?"

"Y-Yes."

The Minister cleared his throat.  "Yes, right.  Well," he lowered the wand he's been weighing in his hands.  Harry's hand was itching to take it from him.  "To business."

"Business?"

"Harold James Potter, you are accused of wilfully and knowingly using an Unforgivable curse."

"Accused?  What are—"

"Do you deny that you that on the sixteenth of May this year, you made use of the Killing Curse on another person?"

"No, of course not! But I would hardly consider Voldemort a pers—"

"And at the time you were fully aware, were you not, that the Killing Curse was classified as Unforgivable?"

"Yes, but it was Voldemort!"

"So you admit that you knowingly used an Unforgivable Curse, knowing full well that it was indeed _unforgivable_."

"Does Dumbledore—"

"Answer the question."

"I've already told you!  Yes, I used an Unforgivable Curse to rid the world of a homicidal maniac!  Sorry!"

"I'm afraid that apologies will not suffice in this case."

Harry stared at him.

"Unforgivable, Mr. Potter.  No exceptions."

"Wuh--," Harry suddenly became very afraid.  "Where's Dumbledore?  You can't—"

"Perhaps you forget Mr. Potter.  _I_ am the Minister of Magic.  What _I_ say goes.  Not Dumbledore."

Harry took a step back and to his left.  One of the large Aurors mirrored him and gave a warning glare.

"Usually," Fudge continued, as though Harry hadn't moved.  "The sentence for use of an Unforgivable is life in Azkaban."

Harry felt his heart skip a beat.  His chest began to constrict.

"However, seeing as… you are who you are, and the fact that you have done a great service to the wizarding world, I have decided to wave the Azkaban penalty."

Harry began to shake as breath returned to him.

"But this still cannot go unpunished."  He mad a move and for a moment the boy thought he was getting his wand back.  But instead, Fudge switched the wand to his left hand and with his right, stuffed something into Harry's hand.  Harry looked down.

"Fifty Pounds?"

"Harold James Potter, for wilful use of an Unforgivable Curse against another individual, I, Cornelius Fudge Minister of Magic, hereby strip you of all your magical powers and exile you forevermore from the wizarding world.  May Merlin watch over you."

Harry's mouth had dropped open and his eyes felt like they would fall from his head.  He couldn't have heard right.  He couldn't—

Harry didn't have time to contemplate the reality of the situation as Fudge pointed is own wand at Harry.  The boy, from all his training, immediately reached for his own wand, before realizing that the Minister still had it.

"Good luck, son.  EXSILIUM EX-"

"FUDGE!"

-UO!"

The world blinked dark and when it became light again, Harry found himself staring at the wall of an old brick building.

He looked around. He was in an ally.  A plain looking muggle ally filled with rubbish and wood cartons.

This isn't real… This isn't real, he tried to tell himself.  The sharp pain of his hand being cut on a shard of glass convinced him otherwise.  He looked down at his hand and to the broken piece of bottle that was resting on the crate next to him.  He passed his right hand over the cut.

"Resarcio."

The hand continued to bleed.  Harry began to panic.  That was the simplest healing charm there was.  It didn't even require a wand.  Harry pointed towards a bottle cap resting on the paved ally floor.

"Accio bottle cap."

Nothing.

Harry began to hyperventilate.  He dropped to his knees.

"No.  No, no, no, no, NO!"  Harry cried to the cruel fates that mocked him.

*~*~*~*~*

"No sign of them, Severus?"

"No, Headmaster.  Pity we no longer have that damnedable map of Potter's."

"Indeed.  But that for another time."

The Potions master nodded and followed Albus and Minerva down another hallway.  They had been made aware that the Minister of Magic was on the premises and looking for Harry Potter.  That did not bode well and so currently; the entire staff (who had been attending a staff meeting at the time) was searching the castle for either Harry or Fudge, or, in the worst-case scenario, both of them together.

Unfortunately, luck was not with them this day.  As they approached a corner they could hear Fudge making his decree to the young Hero.

"--from the wizarding world.  May Merlin watch over you… Good luck, son.  EXSILIUM EX-"

"FUDGE!"  Dumbledore roared as the Minister finished the spell.

They were too late.  Harry disappeared.

"Fudge!  What have you done?  What in Merlin's name have you done?"  Dumbledore demanded.

"What was necessary Albus," Fudge explained calmly.  "He used an Unforgivable.  He should be spending the rest of his life in Azkaban.  But because of the special circumstances of this case, I've decided, as is my right as Minister, to downgrade his punishment to exile.  A considerably more human option to Azkaban, I'm sure you'll agree."

"You've sent a defenceless, magicless wizard into the muggle world without any shelter or knut to his name," Snape said incredulously.

"He's got fifty pounds transferred from _my own_ money.  That should be enough to get him started."

"Bring him back Fudge.  Now!" Dumbledore demanded.  Both Snape and Minerva took a step away at the power that was emanating from the elder wizard.

"Can't do it, Albus.  Even if I wanted to.  He's a muggle now.  No way to track him."

"Where did you send him?"  Snape asked.

Fudge raised an eyebrow.  "Why should it matter?  He's gone now."

"WHERE?" Dumbledore demanded, and the windows of the hall rattled dangerously.

Even Fudge and the Aurors took a step back at this.  Fudge tried to keep his dignity about him as he raised his chin and said, "London.  Muggle London."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry curled up near the heating grate.  He would have sat on the thing, but the hard rain pouring down was causing a god-awful smell that made him want to vomit.

Not that there was anything left in his stomach to bring up.  He hadn't eaten in three days.

He'd managed to pull himself together in that ally after about an hour.  Then he decided to do something about his situation.  He came out of the ally to find himself in a large city, unfamiliar and crowded.  He stopped a passer-by and asked what city it was.  The man looked at him like he had an extra head.  He told him it was London and passed on curtly.

London.  Certainly no part he'd ever seen before.  It was dark, seedy.  No tour busses passed through these parts.  There was nothing to see.

Harry began searching telephone booths.  Fifty pounds wouldn't do him very good for making a call.  The previous summer, Hermione had given him her home telephone number.  He'd managed to sneak out a few times to call her.  After the ninth booth Harry realized he would not find enough change to call that distance.  So he rang the operator and called collect.  There was no answer.  Harry then remembered that Hermione had said her parents would be visiting Italy at that time.  He'd looked sorely down at his hands and counted that he did have enough to make _another_ call.  They would never have accepted a collect call, but…

"Hello?"

"Aunt Petunia?"

"Who is this?!"

"It's Harry."

"I don't know any Harry.  Don't ever call here again!  We're done with you!"

Harry had to pull his ear away from the sound of the receiver slamming down on the other end.  The end of the previous summer, the Dursleys had made it perfectly clear that their responsibility to him was finished and that they never wanted to see nor hear from him ever in life.

And that was his change.

He'd eventually found himself in front of a postal outlet.  Buying a pad of paper and pen he wrote letters to Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, to Hermione and Ron and to the Burrow.  He even wrote letters to Charlie in Romania and Bill in Egypt.  Anyone who could possibly help him.  He sent them off with fake addresses on the labels and irrelevant stamps on the envelopes.  Somehow letters from the muggle world always reached their wizarding destination.

The next few days Harry had spent in dark corners of coffee shops and fast food restaurants.  He'd thought it best to remain in the area he'd arrived in, as it would probably be easier for Dumbledore to find him… if he was even looking.  Harry was beginning to have his doubts.  But surely his friends should have been looking for him.  Shouldn't they have found him by now?  Maybe Fudge's spell kept him hidden from wizarding eyes.  He hadn't seen any wizards or anything remotely magical.

Perhaps… perhaps this was it for him…

When the 24hour shop owners had caught onto him and thrown him out, Harry found his way to a shelter.  It was grubby, and smelly, but it was indoors.  People there were in all manners of dress.  He didn't receive the looks he'd received for walking around with his school robes.  In fact, he received some unwanted looks.  In fact, his first night there he was violently woken up when two large men grabbed him and ripped the robe off of him, leaving him in only his muggle jeans and sweatshirt.  They'd walked away with it with a warning look, one of them moving his jacket aside to display a knife tucked into his belt.  And as his remaining money was hidden in the sleeve of the robes, Harry was completely destitute.  Another near conflict the following night drove Harry from the shelter for good.

Although his skill in duelling was renowned in the wizarding world, it didn't help him in the least in muggle London.  Though he was approaching his eighteenth birthday, Harry hadn't grown much in the past several years.  His time in the cupboard during his formative years had had their effect.  He was the shortest male in his year next to Neville, who was shorter than Hermione.  Ron was the tallest having stretched to 6'4" Harry just came to his shoulder.  He had earned some muscle and definition from his years of Quidditch playing, but that muscle did little if you didn't know how to use it.  Hand to hand combat was not something taught at Hogwarts.  Physical scraps were rare and ugly.  He knew full well that he would stand little chance if someone larger than he were to pick a fight.

Which was how he found himself curled up against a building near a smelly heating grate, wondering which god he had pissed off to find himself where he was.

*~*~*~*~*

"Change, miss?  For something to eat?  Thank you Miss!

"Change, sir?  Something to eat?  Sir?

"Change, sir?  Some--- Thank you, sir!

"Miss?  A little change please?"

The 'lady' flicked her cigarette butt at Harry and kept walking.

"THANK YOU MISS!" he yelled in an exaggeratedly loud voice.

"Why I'd like to stick a Filibuster…  Change, sir?…"

Pride be damned.  He was hungry.

Harry found that people were more generous if his appearance were better.  He'd gone to the nearby mission and gotten himself a deep green sweater.  His muggle jeans were dark and looked clean.  Lack of a proper shower had done one thing positive.  His hair, unwashed was heavy and he could style it neatly on his head with his fingers so that it appeared to be neat, clean and tidy.  He played the sympathy card by keeping his glasses slightly askew and making sure his bright green eyes were always wide and pitiful.  Little old ladies were the most generous though sometimes he had to put up with a squeeze to the cheek or a pat on the head.

Whatever kept him from starving to death.

He'd been exiled a little over a month, by his count, though admittedly the days were beginning to blend.  No one had come for him yet.  He was sure his letters must have gotten to _someone_ by now.  But there had been no response.  No action.  Maybe the title of Minister gave Fudge more power than Harry'd given him credit for.  Maybe once he'd made his decree, the others were forbidden from looking for him, lest they face a similar punishment.  Maybe some other tragedy had taken place in his absence and they just didn't have the time.

Maybe he'd outlived his usefulness.

Maybe they just didn't care…

"Change, sir?  Thank you sir," he pushed thoughts… and the lump in his throat, aside.

"Change, sir?  For something to eat?"

The highly dressed man stopped. He looked Harry up and down in an appraising manner, which made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand on end.  The man took a step closer and spoke to him in a quiet voice.

"I'll give you twenty quid, if you'll go for a walk with me."

"Twen-- A w--walk?  Where?"

The man reached up and lightly touched Harry's hair.

"'Round the bend.  I know a hotel…"

Harry violently pulled back from the man.

"_Gerroff_!  I'm not—I don't—Bugger off, man!"

The man frowned and popped Harry's change cup into the air.  Harry's precious gatherings went tinkling all over the sidewalk.  As the man stormed off, Harry dropped to his knees and scrambled around, picking up the money.  Some of it had rolled down the grate.  In his mind, for an instant, Harry prepared to summon the change.

Then he remembered.

If he could have, he would have cursed the retreating man.

*~*~*~*~*

Donovan laughed.

"Didn't like that much, did he?"

"He'll learn," Alex said.

"Nah.  That one's a scraper."

Nelson snorted.  "That'll just make him more fun for us. Breakin' 'im in and all.   Jake, you sure he's been here for two weeks?"

"Maybe longer.  Never leaves the area."

"And he's alone."

"Never talks to anyone 'less he's begging," Peter said.

"Those eyes of his alone… Can see 'em from here!"

"We're gonna be rich," Donovan said.

The dark van rolled away from the curb.

*~*~*~*~*

"Excuse me?  Excuse me, could you help me?  I'm afraid I'm a bit turned around.  Are you from around here?"

Harry shook his head at the sandy-haired man with the large moustache.

"No, I'm not.  But, I've been around here for a while.  What are you trying to fin--"

Harry didn't have time to finish his question, as there was the screech of a vehicle pulling up behind him.  Before he could turn around a dark cloth was pulled over his head.  Several sets of arms lifted him up and restrained him, despite his frantic struggling.  He heard a metal door slide shut and felt the vehicle drive off.  A damp cloth was shoved up under the dark hood and clamped down over his nose and mouth with a rough and heavy hand.

He tried to fight, but his body began to feel heavy.

His head felt extremely light

He felt as though he were falling very fast, and staying still at the same time.

And then there was nothing.

*~*~*~*~*

To be continued.

A/N: Okay, so I'm on a 'beat-up-step-on-torture-and-make-Harry's-life-as-miserable-as-possible' trip.  You 'abusing Harry' fans should be in heaven.  :)

Yes, I'm working on all three of my posted HP stories.  Stop panicking.  I've even got a go on HP and the SW5.  Hang in there!

Review please!  (Or no more of this one! – Yes, that is a threat! ::evil laugh::)

One Eyed Witch – http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/One_Eyed_Witch/


End file.
